


The 7 Days of Hallowe'en

by JantoJones



Series: UNCLE Holidays [8]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: A series of short pieces in response to the Live Journal Section VII ' Days of Hallowe'en' CHallenge.





	1. The Pelagic Trader

“I know what I saw, Tovarisch,” Napoleon asserted, for the third time. “That ship disappeared right in front of my eyes. One minute it was there, the next, gone.”

“Napoleon, I do not doubt that you believe what you saw,” Illya said carefully. “But you had been adrift in that lifeboat for almost three days. Having no food or water probably caused you to hallucinate. Large cargo vessels do not simply evaporate into thin air. I suggest you put it behind you, my friend.”

Solo huffed. He was absolutely certain that the _Pelagic Trader_ had been a very real and solid ship. He was equally as certain that it had blinked out of existence as he looked on. This fact had been left out of his report, as he didn’t wish for Waverly to send him for a psyche exam, but he had revealed it to his partner. 

As he’d expected, Illya hadn’t believed him; his Russian friend was far too sceptical for that. Napoleon was grateful, however, that Illya hadn’t mocked him.

“I’ve got a meeting with Waverly,” Napoleon said suddenly. “See you in the commissary for lunch?”

After Solo left the office, a shudder ran through Illya, as memories of his navy days surfaced. 

He had been quite young when the captain of his submarine had volunteered him to be part of a four-man boarding party. They were to investigate the apparently abandoned vessel and discover what had happened to the crew.

Once on board, Illya and his comrades had quickly searched the ship and found absolutely nothing. Most places, whether on land or at sea, showed some evidence of any human habitation. The submariners hadn’t even found so much as a cigarette butt. It had been as though, instead of being abandoned, it had never been crewed.

It wasn’t until the young men had decided to head back to their own vessel that they’d heard something.

Low, long moans reverberated around the ship, bouncing off the metal containers, and causing a deep dread in the hearts of the four young men. The moans had then transformed into words which, although not in Russian, were understand by the men.

“WELCOME TO THE CREW!”

A mist had risen up from the sea and swirled around the terrified young men, seeming to penetrate through their clothing and into their skin.

None of them spoke, but somehow agreed to start running. They’d made it to their dirigible in record speed and, as they’d hurriedly rowed away, the ship vanished. One second it had been there, the next it hadn’t. Once back aboard the submarine, the young sailors had given their reports, barely believing it themselves. If the captain hadn’t seen the ship disappear for himself, he would have dismissed the reports as fanciful. Instead, he had ordered his whole crew to never mention a word of it to anyone.

Despite what Napoleon had witnessed, Illya decided to keep obeying the order to never talk about what happened with the _Pelagic Trader_.


	2. Scary, The Wrong Way

Napoleon chuckled to himself as he pulled on the mask he’d had specially made for the Hallowe’en party. He’d decided to go as a cackling old man, with wild hair. The party wasn’t for another two days, but he wanted to test it out first.

Crouching down, hidden by the corner of the grey, metal wall, Napoleon waited for a victim. It wasn’t long before he heard the sound of someone heading his way. Leaping up and cackled manically into the person’s face.

The next thing Napoleon knew was when he woke up in medical. He could feel that his nose was packed with wadding and, although he had the sensation of pain meds in his system, his face still felt quite sore.

Leaning against the wall, his black clothing a stark contrast to the white paint, Illya Kuryakin had his arms folded in defiance. 

“Did you do dis?” Napoleon asked, his speech muffled by his broken nose.

“I did,” Illya replied, stiffly. “But do not expect me to apologise.”

“You strug your CEA,” Solo countered.

The Russian rolled his eyes.

"I defended myself against an idiot who was stupid enough to jump out on a highly trained enforcement agent.”


	3. The Mist

Napoleon was gone.

Illya cautiously leaned over what remained of the crumbled stone balustrade, but could see nothing through the thickening mists. Not that it would matter, as anyone who fell from the cliff top would have little chance of survival. He called put his partner’s name, but the sound was muffled by the fog.

The two agents had been enticed to the ancient house, which looked as though it had grown from the cliff-face, on the promise of learning Thrush secrets. Upon reaching the top, having climbed the rickety stairs which led up to the house, Napoleon and Illya were confronted by an exceptionally panic-stricken man. He had glared at them wildly, and was screaming something about the mist being alive. Without warning the man threw a small package at Napoleon, shouting ‘here, have it!’.

Instinctively, Solo had reached out to catch the package. He’d succeeded, but lost his balance; falling against the time-damaged masonry. The stone had broken away, causing Napoleon to tumble of the edge of the cliff.

That had all happened only ten seconds previously.

Illya stood in silent shock. His partner, his best friend, was gone. Before he could even begin to think of how he would tell Waverly, his attention was drawn to the mist. In front of his eyes, it had begun to swirl and shift. To Illya’s utter disbelief, it lifted Napoleon Solo up towards him, and carefully placed him on solid ground. It then receded and reverted to its original state.

Napoleon and Illya stared at one another without speaking. Neither of them had the words to describe what had just happened. Holding up his hand, Solo showed his partner that he still had the package.

“I hope that is worth all this,” Illya stated flatly, trying to keep the tremble from his voice.

Solo didn’t reply, other than to jerk his head in a signal they should leave. All he wanted to do was get back to the office, then head out for a drink; or five.


	4. The Sisters  of Blessed Vengeance

Despite the brightness of their headlights, the darkness ahead of Napoleon and Illya’s car seemed to supress the light. The oppressiveness of the moonless, starless night reflected the mood within the vehicle perfectly. 

Neither man was happy about the outcome of their last mission. It was technically a success, in that genocide had been prevented. However, because the deed was being perpetrated by the leader of a country, U.N.C.L.E. were unable to take direct action against him. A deposing would be arranged, but the command would be careful not to be found to be involved in it. Solo and Kuryakin hated the idea of not being able to fully finish the job, but could accept the reasons for it. 

Not a word had been exchanged between the two men for almost an hour, as they headed for the airport, along deserted country roads. Both of the agents allowed themselves to wallow in the own, private despondency. Being the good guys was surprisingly difficult at times.

A little way ahead of them, a yellow-orange glow appeared which, as the pair drew near, they realised was a lamp. It was being carried by a nun in white, who looked to be a novitiate. Behind her was a black-clad nun, whose face seemed to be obscured by her wimple. It wasn’t until they got closer that Napoleon and Illya noticed that there was no face there at all; only a black void. Illya brought the car to a halt when the nun in white held up her hand.

“Do you need assistance, Sister?” he asked, still wondering why two brides of Christ were travelling through the dark, on foot. 

He tried hard not to look at the faceless nun. His mind was telling him that something wasn’t quite right with her, and he should be afraid but, both he and Napoleon felt only serenity coming from her.

“We are not the ones in need of assistance,” the novitiate replied. “We do not show ourselves to the living if we can help it but, you are good men who are in need of reassurance.”

“I don’t understand,” Napoleon told her, puzzled by her use of the word ‘living’. 

“You prevented the deaths of many today,” the young nun told him. “But you could not do anything to inhibit the man who wished those deaths. As good men, you could not bring about the end of President Otero and this weighs heavily on your hearts. We are the Sisters of Blessed Vengeance, sent to complete this task for you. You may go home with the knowledge that President Otero will harm no-one ever again.”

Turning away from the vehicle, the Sisters walked away, before fading into the night. Illya and Napoleon looked to each other for answers, but neither could find any explanation. They briefly discussed going after the nuns, but decided against it. Although they couldn’t understand why, they somehow knew that they would arrive back in New York and discover that Otero had died.

Sure enough, it was the first thing Mr Waverly said to them as they entered his office. Reports stated that the president had been visited by two nuns, shortly before suffering a massive heart attack.


	5. Family Bites

As was often the case, Napoleon Solo had been seduced by a beautiful woman. His ego was such that he would always claim that he was the one doing the seducing but, the plain fact was, he was a slave to his libido. This was especially so when it came to the blonde-haired temptress with piercing blue eyes who had recently ensnared him

Sitting in a darkened corner of a restaurant, Napoleon and his date nuzzled at each other’s necks, their meals forgotten. Solo moaned in pleasure as he began to nibble at the skin of his throat. The moan became a sharp hiss when nibbling turned into a hard bite. Pulling away, he was shocked to see his blood covering her mouth.

Napoleon was about to demand what she was doing when his communicator drew his attention. Glaring at the woman in front of him, he assembled the pen-like device.

“Solo,” he stated, a little harshly.

“You’re needed back at the office,” the voice of Illya Kuryakin told him.

Napoleon frowned at the communicator. The message itself wasn’t a problem, as being called into work with little to no notice was par for the course. The thing which had caused a sense of uneasiness in him was Illya’s tone. He could hear a strange mix of fear and anger in his partner’s words and asked him if he was okay.

“I am fine,” the Russian replied, with his stock phrase. “Just a little tired, that is all.”

“If you say so,” Napoleon stated, accepting that Illya wouldn’t tell him anything if he didn’t want to. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Solo shrugged as he tucked the communicator away. Illya often had strange moods, and this was obviously one of them. He’d been perfectly happy when Napoleon had been with him a few hours ago, but then again, anything could have upset him in the mean-time. There had once been a time when Illya had entered a two hour funk simply because the commissary had run out of turkey soup.

Making his apologies to his date, Napoleon left her enough money for a cab, before paying the bill, and then heading out of the restaurant. From the far end of the room, Illya waited until Solo was gone before emerging from the shadows, and making his way over to the woman.

“I have asked you many times not to prey upon my friends,” he said, in a tone which was half anger, half exasperation. “Must you keep doing so?”

“I had no idea he had anything to do with you, dear brother,” Klavdiya Kuryakina sulked. “I simply found myself a handsome plaything.”

“Do not ruin this for me,” Illya warned. “For the first time in centuries I am enjoying my life, and doing something which actually matters in the world. How deeply did you bite him?”

“Not deeply enough to make him one of us, and certainly not enough to kill him” she answered, with a sneer. “Fear not, older brother, he will still be human in the morning.”

“Why are you here?”

“Illyusha, why are you always so serious?” Klavdiya asked. “I was bored in Europe and decided to take a little holiday here. Don’t worry, I will not be staying. I do not like America, despite the lovely things to be found here.”

Her gaze drifted to door through which Napoleon had left.

“Stay away from him, Klava!”

“There is no need to growl, brother. He is safe from me,” Klavdiya conceded. “And I shall go home immediately.”

The brother and sister left the restaurant made their farewells to one another. As she walked away, Illya called out to Klavdiya.

“It was good to see you, Klava,” she said, with a broad smile.

Klavdiya replied with a smile of her own.

“See you around, brother.”


	6. Untitled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is more gory than creepy, but I haven't made it graphic. It also got a little dark.

Napoleon Solo pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against his nose and mouth. The stench within the Thrush lab was a horrific mix of chemicals and dead flesh. All around him were jars and bottles, all filled with various human body parts. 

In the centre of the room, on large steel table, was the dismembered body of a man. Solo had seen many terrible things in his life, but the remains in front of him would haunt his nightmares for many years. Thankfully, the man you had performed the mutilation was himself lying dead. He had taken umbrage at U.N.C.L.E. halting his work and had tried to kill Napoleon, who had swiftly dispatched the man. Looking around the room, Solo found himself glad the mad scientist was no more. However, the scene also caused the knot of fear in his chest to tighten further.

Illya had entered the lab twenty-four hours previously in search of evidence of human experimentation. Since then, he had failed to check-in, and all efforts to contact him had resulted in nothing. Napoleon was trying very hard not to think about what could have happened to him. He gave a small prayer of thanks that the man on the table wasn’t Illya.

Crossing the room, Napoleon slowly opened a door, terrified of what he might find beyond. His dread proved to be well-founded when he came face to face with a horrifying looking creature. It was human shaped, but the skin hung from its frame as though it didn’t fit. There was no nose, save for two large nostrils, and an ugly, sagging mouth. It had no eyes on its face, and no evidence of there ever having been any. Just as Napoleon thought his revulsion could get any worse, the creature raised its hands to its face.

Embedded in each palm was an eye. Both of them looked around, and blinked, as any ordinary eye would.

“Illya?” Solo asked, with trepidation. “Is that you?”

“I am. . . was Edward,” the creature gasped. Speaking was clearly difficult. “But there is a man over in the corner.”

Tearing his eyes from the creature, Napoleon looked to the corner and was relieved to see his partner. Illya was unconscious, but alive. Napoleon was quickly by his side and, after wafting smelling salts under his nose, was rewarded with a confused expression from blue eyes. Illya swiftly took in the situation and, upon seeing the creature, gasped.

“What is that?” he asked.

“It looks to be the result of the experiments being performed here.”

“What do we do with it. . . for him?”

“Kill me,” the creature known as Edward stated. “I cannot live like this.”

“We could take you somewhere,” Napoleon told him. “Find someone who could help.”

“I will not endure any further surgical procedures. Death will be quicker, and less painful.”

Solo unholstered his gun and offered it to Edward.

“I can’t kill you in cold blood, but I can give you the means to do it yourself.”

Edward sadly shook his head, explaining that his hands could no longer grip the weapon.

“Please help me,” he begged.

Napoleon closed his eyes as he tried to settle the battle in his soul. He knew that death was what Edward wished, and that allowing him to live would be an endless torment. However, he believed that every human life was sacred, and when it came right down to it, Edward was still human. Before he could come to a decision, Napoleon felt a hand on his. Opening his eyes, he found Illya gently taking his gun from him.

“I can’t let you, Illya,” he protested.

“You can, my friend, and you will,” the Russian softly replied. “I do not want to kill a man who is no threat, but if we take him from here, he will not receive help. He will, instead, become an object of study. That is no life for anyone. I also know that I will deal with this much better than you. I have had the practice.”

Solo wanted to ask what Illya meant by that, but decided that it was probably something he didn’t want to know. He could also accept his partner’s words about Edward’s future. Scientists, even those with good intentions, would want to know how he came to be in his current state. He offered Illya an almost imperceptible nod of agreement, and turned away. He had no wish to witness the deed.

Illya placed the muzzle of the pistol against Edward’s chest, over his heart.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Edward replied emphatically, “Thank you.”

Later that day, after everything had been handed over to Section 3, Napoleon went looking for his partner. He had disappeared after giving his report to Waverly and Solo eventually found him in the locker room of the gym. He was sitting on a bench, with his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry, Tovarisch,”

“For what?” Illya asked, hurriedly wiping away the tears which were running down his face. 

“That I left it to you.”

“You did not leave it to me. I took it away from you.”

“Waverly is arranging for funerals for Edward, and the other dead man,” Napoleon told him. “I asked him to give us time to find out who they were, so that we can bury them with their names.”

Illya smiled sadly. At least he would know the full name of the man he had murdered. In the past, he hadn’t always been afforded that one small courtesy.


	7. Untitled

For those with a love of Hallowe'en, the scene in the dining room would be seen as perfect for creating a creepy atmosphere. The room was bathed in the warm glow from several candles, which created beautiful shadows, and made the draped cobwebs sparkle. On the table was a pile of pumpkins and bones, with a spectacle wearing skull perched atop it. Sitting on one side of the table, looking like guests enjoying a feast, there were two skeletons. It was these which held the interest of mark Slate and April Dancer, and which filled them with a cold dread.

“You don’t suppose this is. . . ?” April let her voice trail off, not wishing to say what she was thinking out loud.

“It can’t be, Luv,” Mark replied, in a tone which belied his own fear. “They’ve only been missing for twenty-six hours.”

“But Rossetti said they. . .”

“I know,” Mark cut her off. He too didn’t want to believe it either.

A day earlier Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin had been sent to the home of Aldo Rossetti, a high-up Thrush official. They were investigating Rossetti’s sudden links to a leading chemical company but, following an initial check-in, they hadn’t been heard from since.

After twelve hours, Waverly had grown concerned. Ordinarily, he was happy to wait a little longer, to allow his agents time to do what they needed, but this situation was different. U.N.C.L.E.’s top team had had dealings with Rossetti in the past, and he was known to be a vicious and creative when it came to revenge. To that end, he had deployed Slate and Dancer, with a squad of Section 3 agents, to pick up the Thrush man. It had taken a few hours, but he was soon in a cell, and proving to be just as mad as any other Thrush.

He was a man who seemed to enjoy drama and theatrics just a little too much, and couldn’t wait to reveal what he had apparently done to the missing agents. He told them, with a maniacal grin, that they were to be the focal point of his Hallowe’en decorations. Upon hearing it, April and Mark hadn’t even waited for orders before haring off to find their colleagues.

Almost tiptoeing, Mark slowly walked towards the two skeletons. With a shaking hand, he reached out to touch the nearest one. It promptly fell apart, and clattered to the floor. Mark jumped back a little, and April lamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a scream of surprise. However, after quickly recovering, Mark smiled at his partner.

“That sounded like plastic,” he said, reaching down to pick up one of the bones. He examined it before handing it April.

“Then where are they?” she asked, with relief evident in her voice.

“I guess we search the whole place.”

It took almost an hour but, finally, Napoleon and Illya were located. The American was chained up in the attic, and the Russian was in the basement. Both were unconscious, but they were soon brought to wakefulness.

“What happened?” Napoleon asked, sitting down heavily on one of the dining room chairs. Whatever had rendered him unconscious had left him feeling drained and nauseated. 

If he was feeling this bad, he dreaded how badly it was affecting Illya. His thought was answered when his partner quickly turned away from them and vomited copiously. Illya was going to be extremely cranky for a couple of days.

“I thought the skeletons were you,” April told them, after Mark explained everything they knew. “I was very worried, darling.”

Napoleon looked at the remaining skeleton and shuddered. Looking to Illya he saw a look in the man’s eyes he recognised only too well. Aldo Rossetti was in for an exceptionally difficult future.

“Come on then children,” he said, a little too jovially. “Let’s get back to headquarters and cleaned up. I believe my partner is planning on putting a little horror into Rossetti’s Hallowe’en.”


End file.
